


under the moonlight

by HIP_FUCK_SIN



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spirits, Angst, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Kissing, M/M, Talking, chan is just mentioned as jisung's friend, college student& producer!jisung, deep talks, jisung isnt confident w his lyrics, late night, minho is a shoulder to lean on, minho is dead in dis fic, omg im so sorry chan sweetie i lov u, silver-haired minho bc it's what we deserve, spirit!minho, thats why hes a spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HIP_FUCK_SIN/pseuds/HIP_FUCK_SIN
Summary: Jisung finds solace and inspiration whenever he sits by the bridge near his campus. There's just something about the thick foliage of trees and the stars that dot the sky at night that sets his mind free from the constraints of college and makes him write continuously. The bridge has always been deserted due to the town stories about Spirits lurking around their place, but tonight, under the moonlight, Jisung finds a certain silver-haired boy who happens to catch Jisung's heart.or: Jisung is an aspiring producer & writer who seeks for inspiration and Minho is a Spirit who seeks for acceptance and his past.





	under the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> hello sorry this:  
> -is not proofread  
> -mentions a bit of violence but not too much. like it's just a phrase jfkkdkd  
> -talks about death; mentions of death  
> -is just sad in general but dw it has a happy part too djkdks
> 
> uhh talk to me on twitter @kttylino yeet i just had to get this fic off my chest fdjsksk goodbye i love u all ❤

The bridge near Jisung’s campus has been his comfort zone for about two years. There’s just something in the way the exquisite view of nature feeds his mind with rich ideas to pen. The bridge is deserted most of the time and looks lonely and scary at night, but it offers the best view of the lush foliage of the forests and the wide sea that kisses the horizon in the town’s outskirts, so it’s a win for him. No one really dared to stay there unlike he does—not after the speculations of Spirits roaming around their town.

Ah, yes. Spirits.

Well, Spirits in Jisung's place have always been unconventional contrary to what most story books in other countries say. Unlike these, their Spirits are real and tangible just like humans. They're like humans with flesh, dark blue eyes, and real feelings, except they're cold and dead and can't remember their past save for the way they died. They also can't get past their designated areas.

Basically, Spirits are kind of prisoners in their places. Aside from that, rumor has it that they bring misfortune and sadness to anyone who talks to them, so no one dares to pick up a conversation with them. They're sad souls trapped in a human body, desiring nothing but the truth of their past life and acceptance.

They’re pretty much everywhere—you may meet one in the local market or the pedestrian, honestly—but they’re more frequent in secluded areas. Jisung’s bridge isn’t an exemption to this.

Well, back to Han Jisung.

Han Jisung is on his last year in college. Just a few months left and he’ll finish taking up Biology. He never really loved the course; he just can’t get himself to love learning the way organisms move in their habitat no matter how hard he tries to. Music and writing has his heart since day one, but because his parents never allowed him to pursue his desires (thinking that taking up something in the Arts is not ‘practicable’), he’s stuck into this mess for about four years, barely passing and living off of all-nighters.

So he studied like an empty robot for two years, his mind always filled with scientific names of every plant and animal his professor required him and writing countless papers instead of lyrics. Truly, things get a thousand times harder when your heart isn’t into it. He wanted to see the once bubbly and loud Jisung he used to know, but no matter how hard he looked into his foggy bathroom mirror, he saw nothing but tired eyes. It was completely foreign and empty.  
Was he miserable? For a bit, yes. Thanks to some of his friends though, he got to do what he loves when he has spare time. Thanks to his friend Chan—a Behavioral Sciences major and part time producer—he learns a lot more about music production and his lyrics get decent criticisms. His love for writing was a dying ember, and he has to kindle it and bring it back to life, roaring loud and crackling under the dark.

That’s where he got himself to right now. Balancing this life and his (awful) academics, he barely gets enough rest. He took every opportunity he has; at the back of his notebooks, he poured his soul out into words and ink. It’s tough, he doesn’t deny it, but it’s worth it.

And so here he is, trying to find inspiration in the thickness greenery of the forest and the glimmering night sky. There's something in the way the night wind blew against his shirt that brings him in the mood to write. He's written a lot of songs in his old leather-bound notebook and, being the genius that he is, the lyrics were written intricately, with words carefully woven like a mat that exudes an amazingly beautiful and smart picture.

However, here's the thing: he doesn't know that.

Jisung's shoes crunch against the dead leaves in the pavement. Just a few more steps, and he's back to his bridge, the said cemented structure standing still against storms and winters.

His train of thoughts gets cut off as soon as he's around a few meters near his favorite place—the middle of the bridge. He squints in an attempt to make an analysis on the figure on the bridge, but he hardly gets anything out of it.

I really need a new pair of glasses, he thinks.

Jisung walks closer ‘til he gets a clearer view, plastic bag tightly held by his right hand and heart racing. There, his eyes meet a man who looks young enough to be around his age. He sits on the bridge rather lopsidedly, his feet dangling and swaying freely on the bridge’s railings. The man looked peaceful and content with the view in front of him, his breathing paced relaxingly. He wore a thick, gray bomber jacket over his brown shirt and had smooth, silver hair that shone like a halo under the faint moonlight.

He was beautiful and peaceful and welcoming. Jisung would be a liar if he tells that he isn’t drawn to this stranger.

It seems like the man felt his presence; he cuts off his gaze from the forest towards Jisung, who looked dumbfounded holding tight onto his backpack strap and plastic bag.

“Hello,” the man starts. Holy shit, even his voice is so warm? Jisung thinks, but throws it at the back of his mind. He wouldn’t want to embarrass himself in front of this (beautiful) stranger, would he?

“Nice view right there, isn’t it?” Jisung responds coolly, trying his best not to combust at the moment. The man hums in agreement, his gaze long gone from Jisung’s face and back to the forest. “It is. It’s earthbound Elysium and we could see it with our own two eyes. Now, we’re too lucky, aren’t we?”

Jisung was practically staring at the man unconsciously until their eyes meet. He turns away hastily, making the man let out a light chuckle before pursing his lips. “Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Just tell me if you don’t feel okay, hm?”

“No, no, no. It’s okay, I was just—I don’t know, I—“ Jisung blabbers, then sighs defeatedly, “okay then. Thanks, I guess.”

The man’s lips morph into a reassuring smile. “No problem. I’m Lee Minho, by the way.”

“Han Jisung. And yes, we’re lucky to even enjoy seeing nature being like this. In this age, forests like this are hard to preserve.”

“It’s sad,” Minho mumbles and Jisung hums in agreement. “I wish this lasts forever. I wish we could keep it like this.”

Minho and Jisung spend the next minutes in complete silence, with nothing but the sound of passing cars and crickets filling their ears. Jisung rummages from his backpack and brings out his notebook and pen then starts scribbling.

Minho, with nothing to do and nothing to distract him, starts to watch Jisung as he gets more and more concentrated. Oddly, he finds this interesting. There’s nothing much with a boy writing down words in his notebook, but maybe, just because it’s Jisung and he feels oddly comfortable with the boy, he finds it interesting. He glances and makes anything out off of the words scribbled on the paper, before Minho gasps in realization.

“Woah, you write lyrics?” he tilts his head and his lips form a tiny ‘o’ in surprise. It cuts Jisung off from his own little world with his composition notebook, and seeing Minho and his reaction, blood rushes towards his cheek, splaying a red tint around them. “Y-yeah, I guess. It’s awful though,” he smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.

Minho rolls his eyes playfully at this, “Jisung, how can you say that? I haven’t even seen your work.”

Jisung laughs awkwardly, his fingers finding their way to his retractable pen and nervously clicking it. Minho seems to notice this little movement, making him feel bad in the process. “Jisung, are you okay? You don’t have to show me your work if you’re not comfortable with it, you know. I totally understand,” Minho’s eyes look straight into Jisung’s, his gaze piercing and earnest, “I swear. Like I’ve said, I don’t wanna make you feel nervous or uncomfortable.”

Minho did not buy whatever Jisung said about his lyrics; if anything, he believed that the man wrote brilliant lyrics, only that he’s not confident about them. Despite that, Minho doesn’t want to force the man to show his work, even if he wanted to so badly.

Jisung’s heart warms up at this. “No, it’s okay. These are pretty awful, by the way. You can read them.”

Jisung sees Minho’s face light up at the fact that he’s going to see his work, and somehow, deep down in his heart, he feels grateful. He does not miss the way Minho’s irises shine a mix of deep blue and silver under the moon, how his features are much softer up close and how his nose is arched perfectly in his face.

Impressed is an understatement to what Minho feels while reading Jisung’s work. The moment he opened the old, leather-bound notebook, he came face to face with Jisung’s messy handwriting—the good kind of messy, to his opinion. Jisung wrote a lot about his feelings and his aspirations, if the words ‘dream’ were any indication. If Jisung’s composition notebook were an amusement park ride, it’d definitely be a roller coaster. He wrote both his positive feelings and determination, as his song I See means, and his deepest, darkest thoughts. It was beyond beautiful and brilliant, and Minho wishes he could hear these being sung.

When he’s on the latter part of the notebook, though, the lyrics were half-written and had a lot of scratches. It’s almost as if the writer was frustrated and angry, based on the marks left by the torn pages. Minho looks up to meet Jisung’s sad, round eyes. The jittery feeling long gone, disappointment sprawls out of his chest.

That’s it. I disappointed Minho, he thinks.

His thoughts get cut off when Minho gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Jisung hates the comforting feeling he gets on his chest (he likes it deep inside, though he doesn’t want to admit it). “This, this feeling that I get from reading this is far from disappointment. In fact, these are all brilliantly written! I wish I could get a copy of this.” Minho frowns. “You know, just so I could have something to lean on when I feel alone.”

“Y-you do?” was all he could muster up. Minho chuckles lightly, and it takes a lot of energy to stop Jisung from smiling too. He can’t help it; Minho’s laugh is feathery light and so, so contagious. He wants to hear it—he badly wants to.

“Silly, of course I do! I’d love to hear this on a radio on a rainy night or maybe live,” Minho’s curled lips turn into a wide smile, “I’d really love to. I support you. And if no one says something about your lyrics, then I’ll gladly be the first one: You’re such a genius for writing all these in two years and I’m so proud of you. Please don’t forget that.”  
Maybe Jisung wasn’t able to write anything on that bridge last night because his mind was nothing but occupied of a certain Lee Minho and his words, but here’s the thing: he feels a little less insecure about his writing and he badly wants to see the silver-haired boy again.

* * *

 

So, Jisung comes back more often, but unlike before, he’s met by his friend’s figure waving at him. It made him feel less lonely; Chan, no matter how close they are, is always busy these days. It felt totally nice for Jisung to have someone he could lean on and talk to about the silliest of things—may it be the tiny kitten he saw in his way to their rendezvous, or the way he tripped on his way to his messy dorm—or when he has something heavy in his chest. Weeks have passed and Minho is still the same cautious and warm person that he is since day one.

Just as expected, he sees the same silver-haired boy sitting by the bridge again, this time sporting a bright smile that could compete with the sun.

Unfortunately, Jisung wasn’t able to go to the bridge for four days straight this week, blame his Plant Physiology journal review. It drained much of his functioning brain cells and his wallet—well, he has no printer and he had to pass a hardcopy of his journal review and the nearest printing shop, apparently, is not budget-friendly. So he lives off of instant ramen and bottled coffee, no matter how unhealthy of a combination that is.

“Jisung!” Minho waves enthusiastically, like he didn’t see his friend for years. It’s been practically four days, but to Minho, it almost felt like a year. Jisung could say the same, too.

Minho eyes the plastic bag in Jisung’s hands, “Ooh, what’d you bring today?”

“Nothing fancy, just two packs of ramen, hot water, one bottle of coffee, an iced tea, and a handful of lollipops. Do you want some?” Minho nods at this and pops in the open lollipop in his mouth. Strawberry milk—his favorite.

“This journal review I had to submit drained all the shit out of me,” Jisung frowns, his lips almost pouting—a little habit of his; no one really notices this save for Minho, who, apparently, finds it adorable.

Weeks of talking to the boy who has squirrel-like cheeks, and he’s almost nearly attracted to him. Well, scratch that—he is attracted to him. Blame his little quirks like the way he pouts when he’s sad, or when his eyes smile and his lips form a heart gummy smile when he’s happy, or when he randomly belts out a DAY6 song since (in Jisung’s defense), no one except Minho and the passing vehicles could hear him.

Oh, and by the way, Jisung sang really, really, great. Boy has an incredibly fascinating vocal range and he could rap too. Minho would lie if he says that he’s done with it; if given a chance, he’d love to listen to Jisung singing every time he wakes up in the morning.

“That’s awful. At least it’s done now, right?” Minho pours the hot water in his own cup of ramen. Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, before Minho hands him the tumbler. “Who knows? Science majors do a lot of research. I fucking hate it.”

Jisung’s words have bite in it. It was unusual for Minho, to say the least. It’s as if being a Science major is a big writer’s block that annoys the hell out of Jisung. “If I may ask, why did you choose being a Biology major?”

“Who says I chose it?” Jisung’s words were laced with grudge. “I would never choose draining my brain out on writing papers than writing music. I hate this.”

“My parents made me do this,” Jisung’s voice was sullen and full of resent. “It feels like I’m wasting time, you know? But on the other hand...” he trails off, his heart sinking deep into frustration, “I don’t wanna disappoint them too. I’m—I’m scared of that look into their eyes. Like they despise you and regret that they gave birth to you and fed you and dressed you up, only to leave them hanging and turning your back against them.”

Tears brimming on Jisung’s eyes rolled down his cheeks. It felt tad nice, to have everything you’ve bottled up for months let out like a shaken up bottle of soda, but majority of his self is enraged and sad that he’s turned into this empty piece of metal—a robot—who moves into the command of others. He felt like a broken compass; supposedly knowing where to go but is just lost no matter where he goes.

“They say that there’s no certainty in choosing a path towards my dreams.” Jisung spits out the words like venom. Minho was completely broken seeing the cheerful boy break down like this—a whole starlight exploding, shattering into pieces. He scoots over to let Jisung lean on his shoulders, his arms enveloping the boy into whatever warmth he could give. Jisung was shaking, his chest heaving up and down and tears streaming uncontrollably.

“They say that I won’t get anywhere if I do music, but after years of being caged like this, I don’t feel like I got anywhere, either. But then again, it’s too late to turn back because I’ve already started this. But I feel so suffocated everytime my brain explodes when I try to memorize scientific names of plants and animals.” Jisung gasps for air. “I could just endure a few more months, but I don’t feel motivation to keep moving forward doing something that I don’t love.”

“Minho I... I just can’t do this anymore. I feel like I’m being selfish to my parents for feeling this way. I—I’m so selfish, I—“

“You’re not.” Minho shushes him, his hands running through Jisung’s hair in an attempt to help him calm down. “You’re not selfish. This society is.”

Jisung looks up to meet Minho’s blue ones. The world he’s living in was a crumbling desert, and Minho’s eyes were the taste of oasis in the desert. He wanted to be with him forever, to just keep on staring at them and to just talk to him and just work hard to reach and pursue what he wants.

“I hate this society. I hate how this society implies that getting a college degree and an elite job is the only way to live a better life, but I hate it even more that it’s the only way to get a decent job to pay for your life. I mean, everyone’s working hard too, you know. There are a lot of problems in the world, people are literally dying in other places because they can’t drink potable water, they die because of what they are. But there’s this prevailing thought among people that the only way to solve things is when we get higher on this triangle of our society, when in fact, the problem is not within us but in the system.”

Minho continues, “I’ve lived long enough in this world to see how horrible it has become. Life is so, so short, but we’re being forced to stay on the conventional path of living.”

“I don’t want to live my life like that,” Jisung butts in, much to Minho’s agreeance.

“I don’t want to, either,” he replies. Minho continues running Jisung’s hair, which does its job and helps him relax. They stay like that for minutes—Jisung lying on Minho’s chest, hearing his heart beat every second passing by, the latter’s arm wrapped on his body and the other one brushing his hair. Minutes of comforting silence was spent, save for their breathing and the sound of crickets. Cars didn’t pass by the bridge that frequent. The moon glowed in its full glory, with the stars twinkling in the blanket of darkness.

Jisung is so, so confused and frustrated. He’s in front of a path that separated in various ways, and in this journey, he can’t undo his choices. Life is tough.

But at that moment, he just wanted time to stop ticking by; they wanted to stay like this, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking under the moonlight.

***

A month passes by, and it’s been nothing but hard for Minho, too. He’s got a different liking to Jisung the longer he spent time with him and the more he heard of the boy’s thoughts. But he knew he has to be honest with him—that means that he has to tell the truth to him, everything that he has been hiding since the day they met.

It doesn’t need a thousand proofs to see that around the time they spent together, they grew to trust each other. Minho knows to not break that foundation of trust.

He can’t continue to develop this feeling towards Jisung if he doesn’t tell him the whole truth. But then again, how easy is that? He’s thought of this most of the time he spent on this bridge. It’s not like he could get anywhere else, anyway. He only had this bridge and this view of the forest, sea, and sky, and Jisung. The thought of losing his only companion, Jisung, has run through his mind at least a hundred times a day; it’s worse than falling into the fiery pits of hell or being ran over by a truck.  
He can’t afford to lose him. He just can’t.

So he musters up all the strength and honesty he could, his tongue starting to get tied and his thoughts becoming disorganized. Jisung seems to notice this; he opens his eyes from his light slumber, then turns his gaze towards Minho. “Is there something wrong?”

It’s now or never. “Jisung, I... have something to tell you.”

Jisung gets up from Minho’s chest and faces the boy fully, his head tilted in curiosity. “Fire away.”

He breathes deeply, his knuckles turning white from fidgeting and closing and opening them. “H-have you heard of Spirits?”

“I have. I don’t know if they’re true, though. Not that it’s a big deal to me, anyway.” Jisung shrugs in nonchalance. “Why’d you ask?”

“Well, I’m a Spirit, you see. And I’m stuck on this bridge since the day I died. Once I remember how I died, I’ll be gone from this world. Forever.” Minho couldn’t look into Jisung’s eyes. He knew that any moment, the boy could run away from him and never come back. He could lose him—oh, how dumb he is to not realize that he could lose Jisung both ways, but he can’t do anything anyway—

“Y-you could go home now, I totally understand. I just wanted to be honest with you and I don’t want to lose your trust, but I swear, I understand if you’ll do what you want and—“

“What the fuck are you saying, Minho?” Jisung butts in, his brows furrowed and his mind perplexed. “How could you say that? Like I care about the dumb rumors these people spread around?”

Minho’s eyes blink in surprise—a habit of his—and his lips were left agape. “Y-you don’t believe in them? They’re half true, though.”

“Like I said, I don’t care. You’re my friend. My companion. I can’t leave you over that, can I?” Jisung opens the bottle of coffee and offers Minho, but he’s still in a trance so he just laughs at him.

“You look surprised,” Jisung nudges Minho in his side, cutting him off from his trance.

“I just... can’t believe it? Oh my god I’m not gonna lose you? I-is this real?”

Jisung giggles, “I can’t believe you’re scared to lose me. Guess what, Spirit? You’ll get more of this annoying squirrel so you better brace yourself.”

“Oh my god, you called yourself a squirrel. So you do admit that you look like a squirrel!”

“Maybe just for tonight, I’ll admit it. You’re one lucky Spirit, huh.”

Minho moves his face closer to Jisung’s, his lips forming a teasing smirk, “What’s the matter? Squirrels are cute and so are you.”

Jisung has gone bat-shit crazy, if the red tint around his cheeks is any indication. He’s surprised and his chest won’t stop pounding wildly against his chest. He couldn’t stop his lips from forming the same heart-shaped smile he has, so his attempt to look annoyed is in vain.

“Since when did you learn to do things like that?”

Minho shrugs, then lies down on Jisung’s lap, “I dunno, since I met you?”

“Oh my god Minho, just shut the fuck up,” Jisung doesn’t know if his cheeks could get any redder and hotter, but that seems like the case he’s in right now, so he can’t help it but to bury his face in his palm. It was embarrassing yet it felt so, so great, especially after being burned out by college.

“How can I shut the fuck up when I enjoy seeing you blushing like this?” Minho sends another bomb enough to make Jisung go shier than he is. Earth’s strong gravitational pull apparently isn’t enough to keep his soul from getting out of his body.

Minho makes him go crazy. And he likes it.

“In my defense, you like seeing my face even when I’m not blushing. And I am NOT blushing. It just happened to be so hot today, that’s why.”

“Whatever you say, squirrel boy.”

“I am NOT a squirrel,” Jisung huffs, but then his cheeks get puffier and it takes Minho’s all willpower to not pinch them.

“You just said that you are. You’re a squirrel—my squirrel,” Minho gets up from Jisung’s lap and envelops him in a tight hug. Jisung squirms underneath Minho’s warmth, but gives in in the end and snuggles up close to him. Minho burrows his face at the crook of Jisung’s neck, his breath spreading warmth throughout Jisung’s skin.

They stay like that for the rest of the hour. Jisung just flunked in his Microbiology exam earlier despite studying hard for it, so ending the day with the person he likes and cares for is bliss for him. Scratch that. Every night he spends with Minho is bliss for him. Cloud 9 that’s too good to be true and a possession that he’d never want to let go.

Minho breaks the silence first, “I really like you a lot, Jisung. You’re the best thing that came to me after years of roaming around this place as if I was invisible. You’re the best thing that I ever met even after summing up my life and life as a dead person.”

Jisung’s throat dries up. He knew he felt the same towards the boy; if else, then how could he snuggle up like this close to him and get tempted to kiss those soft, Cupid’s bow lips of his.

“I like you too,” he responds, his lips smiling brighter than the sun and moon combined, lighting up Minho’s empty heart after decades. He slowly tangles his hand into Minho’s, both hearts beating in sync and eyes longing to look through each other’s.

It was a perfect night, to say the least. The full moon and the stars showered like broken beads of a necklace decorated with diamonds in the sky were their witnesses. The wind was the right mix of cool and a tad warm, just enough to not make them feel stuffy and sweaty.

Slowly, like time warped as it moved towards different universes, they moved closer to each other. Eyes fluttered close, they were both guided by the melody their beating hearts made and the sweet lyrics made by Jisung’s bright mind, and slowly—surely, their lips touched each other’s.

It was sweet, like they were amidst a thousand flowers that bloomed fragrantly and like chocolate and honestly, they can’t get enough. It was soft and slow and sweet and they could practically hear the symphony of their hearts. They let go of all their hesitations and fears just for a moment—just to spend this single moment in their lives and to make a memory that they will keep and never forget no matter how hard that becomes.

Minho has always felt alone the moment he woke up to this bridge, with no memory of his past life and the way he died aside from his name and the fact that he’s dead. No one dared talk to him, thanks to the rumors around the town and his dark blue eyes that distinguished him as a Spirit, so he always felt alone. But when Jisung waltzed in to his life, his dead life knew how it felt like to have a friend, to have someone listen to you, and how it feels like to be loved and cared for.

Jisung has always been a prisoner. He wanted to be free, and he could be free, but not from his conscience. He’s confused of what’s the right thing to do—and technically, there’s no absolute right or wrong—but he tries to live his life, nonetheless. It was black and white, save for his lyrics and music, but even that could make him feel less at times. So he’s more than thankful to meet Minho, to have someone wake him up and help him be free from his own shackles.

They break from the kiss. Jisung cups Minho’s face, his eyes trailed onto the boy’s features like he’s gonna leave and he’s scared to forget how he looks like. He smiles lightly, and so Minho does, too.

“I guess I love you this much, huh.”

* * *

 

But then again, life is not a carousel full of happiness. Let’s face it—it has every single ugly thing that no one wants to feel, and they’re not exempted from that.

You see, every Spirit’s goal in this world is to discover how they died. That way, they can fully rest, all thoughts and memories of this life and their dead life erased. However, there are different ways on how Spirits could remember the way they died. Some have to wait a hundred years to see something that would remind them of their death.

It happened that night, when the moon did not shine, thus leaving the stars to own the entirety of the sky. Like his usual thing, Jisung goes to the bridge with his pack of food, this time bringing bread and cheese, like what Minho was craving for last night. He also tagged along a kitten he saw on his way, remembering how much Minho wanted to play with cats. It was the same thing—the silver-haired boy waving at him, Jisung throwing flying kisses towards his boyfriend, and his boyfriend just laughing at his silly antics. It has always been like that—they meet and share laughter and tell each other everything.

“Sungie, did you—woah you did bring bread tonight! I’ve wanted to eat bread since last night,” Minho opens the loaf of bread as soon as Jisung sits down. “OH MY GOSH you also brought a kitten with you! Hello there,” Minho nearly illuminates in his seat; the kitten rubs its face around Minho’s palm, much to his happiness. Jisung looks at Minho with a fond smile on his face. Of course, he’s whipped seeing Minho smile like that because of cats. He always told him about his love for cats.

“Hmm are you hungry?” Minho rubs the cat’s ears, the tiny creature purring in content. “What shall we name her”?

Jisung purses his lips in concentration. Before he could even say anything, Minho’s face lights up in realization, “Soonie! Let’s name her Soonie.”

“It’s cute,” Jisung smiles, then proceeds to give the cat some bread. “Hi Soonie! I’m Sungie.” As if the cat understood what Jisung said, it nudges Jisung’s knees and meows. “Ah, Soonie likes me!”

Minho hugs Jisung, “Thanks for bringing Soonie here. It made me a lot happier.”

“As long as it’s for you,” Jisung boops Minho’s nose, then they burst into laughter. “Whatever, let’s just eat.”

That night, though, Minho was feeling a little bit light-headed. The longer he studied the cat, the more his head ached. Jisung seems to notice this too, so he stops from scrolling through his phone and looks at Minho worriedly. “Hey, are you okay? Do you feel sick?” he puts the back of his hand on Minho’s forehead, but it wasn’t scorching hot, anyway.

“Nothing, I just feel—“ Minho pauses for a minute. The light atmosphere a while ago is long gone, replaced by worry and a stuffy feeling between the two. Minho stared at the pavement, his blue eyes wider than usual. His hands were freezing cold and his throat dries up.

* * *

 

_It all played in his mind. In a snap of a finger, he’s gone from the comforting feeling of the bridge and Jisung and Soonie, but he’s instead lying down in a hanok (traditional house)._

_The sound of the river’s rushing waters reached his ears. It was dark in his room, save for the closed windows made with a material that let the moon light seep through his bed._

_It doesn’t take him an hour to hear muffled voices outside the house. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but at least he knew that the voices sound like a man’s. And oddly, the other one sounds awfully familiar to him._

_He closes his eyes, attempting to go back to sleep, when the door of his room abruptly opens. There, he sees, the figure of a person he knew so well. He gets up from his bed, brows furrowed in confusion at the presence of the person. “Han Jisung, what are you doing here? It’s too late.”_

_Minho hears him talk. He was surprised, but he continues to see through the eyes of this Lee Minho instead. Han Jisung, who very much looks alike his Jisung, walks towards him with a crestfallen look on his face. The air inside the room was suffocating and stuffy in every way, and each step Han Jisung took felt heavy. It reeked of regret and sadness._

_“Minho, I’m really, really sorry,” Han Jisung kneels down beside his bed. His eyes were red from too much crying, and they looked dead. The man wearing the hanbok similar to his couldn’t look straight into his eye. Minho senses that there’s something wrong in this. He sees his cat walking towards them—towards Han Jisung—and rubs its body onto him (a sign that the cat likes him)._

_Han Jisung closes his eyes and brings out a silvery object from his pocket. Minho had to squint in the darkness to realize what it was, and when he does, his body starts to shake in fear. “Jisung, what does this mean? W-why are you holding that?”_

_“Minho, I really am sorry,” he chokes out a sob, “I love you. I love you so, so much.”_

_Minho shudders in anger and fear. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He doesn’t know what’s exactly happening, but inside of him, somewhere inside him, he knew what’s bound to happen. “Jisung, you can’t do this. You can’t let them control you forever!”_

_“Well, what am I supposed to do, hyung? I’m so confused! Mother said that they need me, they need me to be the heir and to rule over this place. How can I let them down, hyung?” In the darkness, he sees Jisung’s glassy eyes. He guesses they’re too close enough to recognize each other’s eyes in the dark._

_“Jisung, when will you ever free yourself? They’re just using you!” Minho felt betrayed. The thought that the person he trusted the most was here inside his room, with a knife on his hand and with a guilty heart, broke him into shards. A few minutes of silence engulfs them, before Minho musters up the courage to speak. “D-do you really want this, Jisung?”_

_At this point, both of them felt like a heavy wheelbarrow is lying in their chest. Minho wanted Jisung to be free from his manipulative parents, but it hurts him to know that that might be far from what’s going to happen._

_Jisung doesn’t respond. “Answer me, Jisung! Do you want this? To live like this?”_

_Then Jisung’s eyes become empty—devoid of any emotion and pain and everything. A tear rolls down his cheek, before he completely thrusts in the dagger into his lover’s heart._

_Han Jisung doesn’t answer him. All Minho remembers is a sharp pain in his chest, the bitter taste of melancholy and betrayal, and how much he still loves his lover despite the person being the ones to bring his own death. Everything turns black_.

* * *

 

“Minho, please, at least tell me what’s happening,” Jisung cries out as he shakes Minho from his trance. Minho realizes that the hanok is long gone, and he’s back at the bridge and around Jisung’s worried gaze.

Minho meets current Han Jisung’s eyes, which reflected worry and fear. He was crying, scared that something bad might have happened to Minho. He wonders how similar might the two Jisung’s be, or whether his Jisung on his dead life is the same Jisung from his past.

He smiles wryly. He still loves both, anyway.

“I remember it now,” was what Minho says after his minutes of silence. A wave of relief crashes into Jisung, but then a pang of fear is left in his chest. “You remember what?”

But then Minho also knew what this meant. Remembering how he died meant that he’ll—

It seems like Jisung read what was on Minho’s mind, though he didn’t want to read it that way. He could misunderstand the whole situation, and he doesn’t want him to feel anxious about something that isn’t gonna happen.

Too late, though. “Minho, you remember what?” he asks shakily, his voice wavering and his hands cold. Minho, on the other hand, couldn’t look straight into his eye like he used to. His eyes shone brighter, the dark blue irises stronger now.

“My death. I remember it all too well, Jisung,” Minho meets Jisung’s eyes bravely. He feels like a vine is wrapped up against his neck, suffocating him and leaving his lungs gasping for air. Tears brimmed in his eyes makes his vision blurry. This was bound to happen; they should have prepared for this but then again, who can prepare for death?

Death is inevitable; it comes and goes swiftly, like a wind passing through windows, and no one really avoids it.

Minho holds Jisung’s hands; Jisung is frowning and his tears pour down uncontrollably. The sight of him crying hurts him, but the person he loves being wretched makes him feel like someone squeezed his heart harder than anyone ever will. He couldn’t bear it.

“T-that means,” Jisung tries to talk in between sobs, only to find his throat painful, “that means—“

Minho could only wrap his arms around Jisung’s fragile body, one of the ways he shows the boy how much he loves him. The boy still fit perfectly in his arms and it pains him to think that he wouldn’t be able to do this anymore—not even in a millenium. He remembers all the nights that he did this, all the times he dreamed of being able to walk around the place with Jisung, their hands intertwined while smiling sweetly. He could only remember the kisses that they shared and the laughter and tears.

“Shhh,” Minho brushes the younger boy’s hair like he used to. He would give everything just to be able to be alive and stay here a little bit longer, just to spend his mornings and nights with Jisung. He wanted to do this for as long as he can—to love him and be there for Jisung, to support him.

“I—I knew this was bound to happen. Should’ve prepared myself,” Jisung chuckles bitterly. “But why does it still hurt so much?”

“Jisung,” Minho hugs the boy tighter. He does not want to let go. Not ever.

_“Why? Why now that we’re happy?”_

The clear skies have been covered by the clouds. It felt colder than usual, but they didn’t falter. Jisung just sobs on Minho’s shoulder, wetting his dry shirt but he’s too devastated to even care. Minho didn’t think that it’d come sooner, but here he is.

“Jisung,” Minho cups the younger’s face. They stare through each other’s eyes like they used to, “promise me- promise me that y-you’ll live freely. That you won’t be a prisoner of others’ will.”

Jisung doesn’t respond with words; he couldn’t find his voice no matter how hard he tries to speak, and so he nods. Minho is colder by the minute, becoming more like a corpse than human. It slapped Jisung with the reality that this night, he’ll lose the person he loves—the one he’s been holding on to. Minho was a sandcastle he’s trying to protect, but no matter what happens or how hard he shields him from the ocean, the waves will always come for him.

“Jisung, please,” Minho caresses his tear-stained cheek. He’ll miss the way they’re adorable like a squirrel’s. “Promise me.”

Jisung studies Minho’s face, trying to remember every curve of his nose or the way his eyelashes softly hang in his eyes. His fingers make their way to his lips wet with tears; they’re still soft and plump—they’ve always been, anyway. His gaze makes its way towards Minho’s eyes full of tears. He carefully wipes his tears. “I promise.”

It feels like a fresh knife drawn into his chest; his heart throbbed and felt that pang of agony in his chest. He snuggles up close to Minho for the last time, trying to remember how good he smells, the scent of freshly baked pastry and a cozy home running through his mind.

Minho might have died feeling betrayed and crestfallen because what Han Jisung did, but this time, he wants to make sure to tell his Han Jisung to live freely—to not be jailed by the conformities of this world and live his life to his own will.

And maybe this time, on his dead life, he achieves this. He dies contently, with a peaceful yet longing smile.

“Please don’t restrain yourself from doing music. Like I’ve said, I’d love to hear them,” Minho smiles at Jisung, not wanting to leave the boy with a heavy heart. “I’ll always be here for you, Sungie. Also, please look after Soonie.”

“Minho,” his voice cracked, _“I love you.”_

Minho smiles back, his eyes crinkling like the crescent moon, _“I love you too, Jisung. I always do.”_

Minho leans in forward, his lips brushing and meeting Jisung’s soft ones. Tears pour down while they share this kiss, pouring in all the anger and pain and misery all at once. Jisung clenches his hands onto Minho’s shirt, never wanting to let go. The skies seem to mourn with them; the drizzling turns into downpour.

Their hearts still beat for each other, but when the clock struck 12, the lips brushing against Jisung’s is long gone. He flutters his eyes open, just to come face to face with the empty bridge and the few cars passing by.

_There’s not even a single sign of the silver-haired boy._

Jisung hears a tiny meow from inside his now drenched backpack, cutting him off from being dazed. Jisung fulfills his promise with Minho, though he winces at the thought of the said boy. He heaves a sigh before crouching down.

“Come on, Soonie. Let’s go home.”

* * *

 

Jisung performs in their town’s music competition. His friend, Chan, was glad to meet him again after being away for a month because his father called him to help him in making a track for his uncle. Jisung wished his family would be like that—accepting what he wanted to do and supporting him in every way they can. But then again, he knew he could get through this if he works hard. He’s going to fulfill his promise to Minho and to himself—that he’ll not restrain himself from making music.

So here he is, standing in front of judging eyes, with his newly-written song prepared in his mind. It sounded mellow, something that a person would definitely love to listen to at midnight while remembering all the happy memories they had with the people dear to them.

It started off as with a soft, lyrical rap—definitely his style—and when the song reaches the chorus, it ranges from Jisung’s middle register singing up to his ear-pleasing falsetto. Jisung held onto the microphone so tight, the memories of him cuddling with a certain silver-haired boy playing in his mind. He hears his soft voice and giggles that in his song, he mentions about how he’d grab every opportunity he can just to hear it over and over again.

The song ends, followed by the crowd’s cheering booming through the four corners of the hall.

This song, _Under the Moonlight,_ is definitely is favorite. The bridge did something more than inspiring him to write lyrics—there, he met someone who made a strong impact in his life. He misses Minho up to this day—he always does—but he knew that Minho would want him to stay his feet on the ground, not mope and become trapped in misery, and live his life to the fullest.

And so Jisung will do it; he will live his life. He promises.


End file.
